


Snakes In Tracksuits

by AdelineAround



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Aliens, Alternate Universe - Police, Anal Sex, Bottom Gavin, Bottom Hank, Consentacles, Double Penetration, Dubious Consent, Halloween, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Oviposition, Prostate Massage, Rough Kissing, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, Top Connor, Top RK900, sentient RK800-60
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 12:20:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16475444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdelineAround/pseuds/AdelineAround
Summary: A police call goes awry when Gavin and Hank arrive to the scene.If Gavin doesn't believe in aliens yet, he will by the end of it.





	Snakes In Tracksuits

**Author's Note:**

> C'mon, there needs to be more tentacles in DBH fandom.

Suppress your pragmatic pessimism, goddamnit, police officer Gavin Reed berates himself as he feels dread settling into the pit of his stomach. He heard the term on a TV show once and, upon looking it up, is a pretty accurate description of the doom that weighs on his chest.

His partner, Hank Anderson does not look any better, a permanent frown dipping into the sea of his greying beard as Gavin drives them to the scene dispatched to them over the closed police channel.

They divert from the local highway onto a dirt road leading into the woods next to it. It is a case of reported assault, the perps two males, Caucasian, in their twenties, possibly early thirties. Gavin groans inwardly, knowing that this will probably not bode well for them; Hank and Gavin, though not the most compatible officers in the world, make a decent crime-busting team when push comes to shove.

“This is 22, one mile from destination, over,” Hank grunts into the ‘com when Gavin turns the corner.

“We don’t need to request additional backup, do we?” Gavin asks after they receive confirmation from the dispatcher on the line.

Hank shakes his head affirmatively. “They’ve got nowhere to hide. There’s no road for them to escape on after this for miles.”

“22 requesting additional backup. Half a mile from destination,” he says through his ‘com. “Totally, gonna catch ‘em red handed,” Gavin boasts, though there is not much confidence behind it. He is unable to shake the bad feeling from his bones, and he grits his back molars because of it.

Hank sends him a glare through the passenger side mirror. “Don’t get too cocky, Reed. It’ll fuck you in the ass if you’re not careful.”

Gavin resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes, sir,” he quips, parking the car in front of a clearing in the forest. “How bad can this go, anyway?”

“Just get ready,” Hank says drily, ignoring Gavin.

His scowl gets deeper when he surveys the landscape from the safety of the vehicle. His brows bunch together, blue eyes narrowing into cautious slits. Gavin does the same; there is something strange about this place, and it is not just because there is no residency when there should be. It is because they have landed themselves next to what looks to be a crater, smaller than the moon’s, but still a decent size.

“What the fuck,” Gavin breathes, glancing towards his partner. “Are you sure this is the right location?”

Hank turns on the ‘com again. “22 at dispatched location. Please confirm that address is correct.”

Silence.

“This is 22, please confirm that the dispatch was correct, over.” Hank repeats, and Gavin feels ominous doom looming over them.

There is crackling on the other end of the two-way radio, but no further response. Hank fiddles with the channel, turning the knobs back and forth to recalibrate; there is nothing but static that replies to him.

“Shit,” Gavin murmurs when he realizes there is no signal. They are out of luck, stranded if they continue with this hunt for the perpetrators. Where are the others? He cuts the engine, then steps out of the car; they are losing daylight by stalling.

Hank climbs out of the shop with a concerned expression painted on his face. Where is this house said to be, planted on this plot of woodland?

Instead of a quaint house, there is just a giant crater, like God took an ice cream spoon, scooped the earth and left a divot in its place. Or, in more scientific terms, it looks like a meteor destroyed the area, impacting the ground so hard that it left a hole in the dirt.

“What the fuck,” Hank murmurs, unsure what he is seeing is real.

The crater is still smoking, dirt hot and steaming beneath the rubber soles of their boots. Worms, segmented and moist, wiggle away from it, spooked from the change in environment. It must have happened recently.

Gavin shakes his head, stepping towards the lip of the basin. “Ever wonder how many asteroids only land in craters?” he asks, but mostly to himself. Hank pulls an unimpressed face at him, but Gavin pays no mind. He squints into the smoke, but finds that he cannot see anything down below. “This is like some Silent Hill shit or whatever.”

“I’m surprised you know about Silent Hill,” Hank stares out into the hollow of the crater, still untrusting and suspicious of the sudden disturbance in the earth.

“Shut up, Hank. I’m not a baby,” Gavin grumbles unhappily, Hank’s friendly jab coming more of an insult to the younger man.

“Hm,” Hank shrugs, but his blue eyes catch something that is enough to send alarms blaring loud in his mind.

Shadows, long and slender, whip fast through the shroud of smoke. They move so quickly that Hank would have convinced himself that it was just his imagination, but Hank knows what he has seen. A chill trickles down his spine.

Gavin is still talking, “Don’t ‘hm’ me, Hank! I’m not that young, and you know it, damnit.”

Hank shushes him quickly.

“Get back, Reed. There’s something out there.” His fingers grip the ‘com on his utility belt. “I’m going to call for reinforcement again.”

“What’s the point?” Gavin does not back away from the ledge, standing his ground like the stubborn ox he is. “The radio is dead, Hank. They can’t hear us.”

“You don’t know that,” Hank argues. “Just because we don’t get a signal doesn’t mean they can’t either. Now, step away from the crater. It’s dangerous, Reed.”

“The dispatch was for possible assault, not held-at-gunpoint, Hank.” Gavin grins smugly. “What could possibly go wro- aaah!”

Suddenly, the ground is shaking, violent tremors rattling Hank and Gavin to the bones. Trees in the distance shake, birds erupting into the sky from the disruption. A sound akin to a low moan pierces the air around them, blasting Hank’s eardrums. Gavin screams as he loses his balance, hands grasping at nothing as he trips off the lip of the crater without a speck of grace.

“Gavin!” Hank shouts over the chaos, mortified as he watches his partner fall into the unknown.

His knees buckle from the strength of the earthquake, forcing him to inch along the dirt like the worms. Hank has to get to his partner, save or salvage him from this disaster of the place. He can’t see with the smoke waxing through the air. It envelopes him, vision becoming foggy as Hank leans over the ledge, desperate to find Gavin.

“Gavin!” he yells again, searching, searching for any sign of the man. He holds out his hand, praying that Gavin is not somewhere at the bottom of the pit, impaled and bleeding out while Hank rides out the earthquake.

What grabs his hand is something _not_ Gavin, however. It is too soft, strong and dry and slightly yielding when it wraps around his palm, then his wrist, dragging Hank with it. Hank’s eyes widen with terror as he attempts to fight back. He digs the toes of his shoes down into the dirt, but the inhuman limb is too strong, ripping him from the ground and down into the basin of the crater.

Wind rushes around him as he flies through the air, unable to do anything but flail as Hank’s life flashes before him.

He just hopes he does not die painfully.

* * *

The scent of burnt rubber, melted plastic, permeates Gavin’s nostrils when he comes to. His head is pounding, like someone has taken a sledgehammer to his head; as one does with a mallet to a bell. A pained groan escapes his mouth as he moves onto his back. He sniffles, accidentally snorting the loose, powdery dirt that is caught in his nose. Coughing, Gavin gags on the mineral taste; that seems to wake him up from his unexpected slumber.

Where the hell is he?

Gavin blinks a few times as vision comes back to him, specks of debris stinging the rims of his eyelids. That’s right, he remembers now. Hank and him were dispatched to take care of an assault case. Instead, he is here, in a place that is too blue and pristine to be the ditch he had fallen into quite unballerina-like, if he is allowed to say so himself.

Embarrassment aside, Gavin still has no clue where he has ended up. He is lying on some sort of cold, sterile surface, not like the gravel and dirt he had so landed on when he tripped into the crater. Sitting up, he feels pain shoot from his spine. He is as naked as the day he was born. Gavin hisses, but forces himself to survey the area through sight.

He has been placed in a room, void of anything but the pale blue color of the walls, with a grey entrance that resembles something like a door. It is an exit, a way out, Gavin’s mind provides.

Gavin shivers when his steel-green eyes lay on his partner, Hank Anderson, who is on an examination table-thing, just like him. He is passed out, face so relaxed he almost does not look the same and, oh, is that _drool_ Gavin sees seeping from the corner of his mouth? It is almost _cute_...

“You are awake,” comes a voice behind him, and the man jolts in his seat.

Gavin tries to whip around, but his body screams in pain when he twists his midsection to look over his shoulder. He locks his jaw, swallowing the whistle of hurt that threatens to spill from his throat.

The voice’s owner decides to relieve him of his pain; incredibly steady hands grip his sides, righting his posture before lying him back down onto the tabletop. A face comes into view then and, by god, if that is not the most stunning sight Gavin has ever laid eyes on. Ice blue irises pierce holes through his grey-green ones, cheekbones so sharp that they can cut somebody. Gavin stares, mesmerized, until the words come, swirling in his head, as if propelled by a hurricane:

_The perps, two males, Caucasian, in their twenties, possibly early thirties…_

Gavin inhales, eyes widening in realization that this man, the gorgeous man staring down at him, is one of the criminals Hank and he are looking for. Automatically, he shrinks back, breath bated as his limbs fly. They ache so much; Gavin can barely get a grip on them, let alone control them correctly. Did they… drug him? He feels lethargic suddenly.

“Shhh,” another voice, one with the same pitch as the first man’s, floats from Gavin’s side. He turns his head, only to be met with the same face, but different eyes. This time, they are a brown color, deep like chocolate and coffee beans. “Your friend is still sleeping.” The man puts a finger to his lips, stroking Hank’s silver hair gently.

“You sick fu-” Gavin spits out, but the man with the blue eyes silences him with a hand over his mouth.

“Watch your profanity,” deadpans the one with ice cold eyes. With an equally freezing hand, he taps Gavin on the cheek in warning.

Gavin clenches his jaw. “I’m not scared of you.”

The man raises his eyebrows, and it is the first emote Gavin has seen on his otherwise stoic face. “I didn’t think you were,” he says. “But you will be when I am done with you, officer Reed.”

“How did you..?” Gavin starts, mind reeling with every possibility.

His now-captor tsks. “It was on your uniform… but you knew that, didn’t you, G. Reed?”

If Gavin was not freaking out internally right now, he would remember his protocol and overpower his captor, pin him down and call for backup. But he is here now, in an unmarked location, unsure of his surroundings and equally unsure of himself, his strength and stamina, at this point.

“Fuck you,” he hisses at the man, but the “fuck” comes out more like “phck”.

His captor raises an eyebrow then, not intimidated by Gavin in the slightest. “I highly doubt that will happen.” He earns a mildly offended scoff from Gavin. “After all, it is you who is at the mercy of _me_.”

“And who would ‘you’ be, exactly?” The more information Gavin can get, the better he can use it for his field report later, is his thinking when he drops the personal question.

“My name is Connor,” goes the one with brown eyes. “And he’s RK,” Gavin looks back at RK, who possesses the striking blue. “Not that it matters, though. You won’t find us in your police database, officer Reed.”

“Why don’t you tell us your first name, G. Reed?” RK suggests, the sentence slithering through the still air like a snake. “It will make this transaction a lot more… personable.”

Transaction? What transaction?

“How the hell is this a transaction?” spews from Gavin’s mouth before he can stop himself. “I don’t want nothing from you two.”

“It’s ‘don’t want _anything_ from you two’,” RK sighs, correcting Gavin’s grammar mistake. “This isn’t about what you want. It is more important to note that _we_ want something from _you_.”

Gavin opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again; not sure of what to say in response. But he does not have to, because something is coming up his leg, slinking around it like some sort of vine. He looks down.

And screams.

“Let me go!” He flails, only to be held down by RK’s strong-as-titanium hands.

The vine is slick, black, crawling up his calf. It feels warm amongst Gavin’s skin, moist but not leaving a residual trail upon the man’s epidermis. It looks a lot like a tentacle; a thick, long appendage that tapers towards the end, but it lacks any sort of suction cups towards the inside. Gavin has only ever seen something like this in movies, and sure as hell has not felt something like this before, either.

“Your struggling is in vain,” RK states, the tentacle-like thing slipping around Gavin’s thigh. “It would feel better if you stopped resisting.” Then, the tentacle splits in half, down the center, so there are now two tendrils that wriggle over his legs. One comes up to fondle Gavin’s, oh god, his…

These men are not human, Gavin realizes all too late. They are dangerous and alien, and he would convince himself he is dreaming, if only he wasn’t being held down by those pseudo-slimy tendrils.

“Careful, RK,” Connor says as he moves Hank with two lanky, sinewy tendrils. They are similar to RK’s; the slightest difference in the shade of inky black color, notifying Gavin that, though Connor and RK may look almost identical, they are still two separate beings. “Sixty wants the incubators in good shape.”

Incubators.

Hank and Gavin are going to be fucking incubators.

Panic strikes into Gavin’s heart like a lightning bolt. He wants to close his legs, keep them tight, but RK’s nimble tendrils are too fast. They whip around both his ankles, spreading Gavin so far that the man’s hips begin to cramp. He cries out in discomfort.

“RK, stop that,” Connor’s feathery brows furrow together. “Have you been listening to me at all?”

“Huh,” RK elicits, inherently ignoring his look-alike’s words completely. “G. Reed is just a little different than your subject.”

Connor cranes his head over to take a peek at Gavin, whose face is burning with embarrassment. He hates being looked at like this… like this _specimen_ people can spectate and study. He is a human being, for Christ’s sake, not some mammal to be examined and prodded for scientific discovery.

“Just a smidge,” concludes Connor, who thankfully pays Gavin’s physique less than a second’s attention. He seems nicer than RK, much to Gavin’s relief. But then he adds, “I guess my hypothesis that all male incubators have the same phallus shape is proven false.”

RK hums, a tentacle coming to ghost over Gavin’s groin. Gavin growls with the best ability he can at the man.

“Really? You’re going to mock me for the size of my dick?” He barks out a sour laugh. “That’s low, even for you… alien freaks.”

“Quite the contrary,” RK says in response. Another slim appendage comes into view, slipping between Gavin’s legs. They reach for his flaccid member, poking it once in experimental touch before resting on his stomach. “I think you are more than sufficient.”

Gavin groans, muscles tightening automatically as RK debuts his third tendril. It wraps around Gavin’s cock, down to his balls, not unlike an anaconda. With perfectly calculated movement, the tendril bunches, climbing upward at the same time, until Gavin’s cock is being lifted, and aimed at the ceiling. It releases its grip not a second later, giving the man a swift stroke down his shaft. When Gavin’s dick throbs in response, RK’s tentacle is eager to do it again.

“Fuck- aah- fuck you,” Gavin bites on his lower lip.

His body is betraying him, cock growing half-chub to full erection as RK continues to stroke along his length. Dull, aching pleasure thrums though his hips, up his back and to his brain. He… he is starting to feel really good, despite the situation at hand.

A smile graces RK’s face, distorting his features in the tiniest bit; Gavin does not know why, but it sends shivers down his vertebrae, as if there is something terribly wrong when RK smiles.

“Nice try, but I have a feeling you like it the other way around,” retorts RK. Gavin tries not to sputter, but fails. The _audacity_ this alien has is incredible, stopping Gavin in his place before he can make a comeback. “Tell me, is the tip sensitive here?”

Gavin strains to keep his eyes open, as he can only watch what RK does to him. Slowly, the tip of RK’s dark tendril opens and divulges into three, nodule-pronged fingerlets. They rise, lengthening the smallest amount, earning a glossy sheen over the rounded ends. It is then that one of them, the one closest to being a pointer finger, presses against the head of Gavin’s cock, aiming directly for the slit.

“Ah!” Gavin jerks, spine arching, his midsection held above the table. The fingerlet spreads the pearling precum that is forming at the end of Gavin’s dick, carefully coating the rest of the fingers with its natural slickness.

RK looks unphased. “Good reaction to stimuli,” he notes, and Connor nods. “I think Sixty will be pleased with this one.”

“They are definitely better than the last two that came ‘round,” comments Connor, who is inspecting Hank with his tentacles.

Another tendril comes into play with Gavin’s cock, this time curling around his balls. They stroke the velvety skin there, massaging the gonads. Gavin fights against them, but it feels good. _Too good_ , and Gavin cannot help the pathetic mewl when the tentacle sinks further down. It pushes along his taint; jolts of electricity spark in his system and fries whatever words he has in his head.

And it only get better, because the third tentacle is meandering to Gavin’s taut pucker, tracing the rim of it with its firm end.

“I…” The sound exits his throat in the form of a gasp. The tendril is too sticky, too dry. It will hurt if RK decides to penetrate him now.

“Secretion, RK,” Connor states, not observing his look-alike, but somehow still knowing what the other is performing. “That’s how you destroyed the other one, last time.”

RK huffs indignantly, as if disappointed that he must take an extra step in preparing his incubator. Looking down, he blinks once, concentrating hard on whatever “secretion” means for him.

All too abruptly, the tentacle at Gavin’s ass is growing slicker, more wet and fluid than just a moment ago. Gavin’s breath hitches in his lungs, only exhaling with a high-pitched squeak when the tendril brushes over the circumference of his hole, coating it thoroughly in the viscous substance.

“Oh, ah,” Gavin manages primal, instinctual syllables.

RK smirks, much to Gavin’s dismay. “You are enjoying this way too much, G. Reed.”

The tendril wriggles against Gavin’s entrance, thin tip breaching him with only a smidge of discomfort. It feels weird, more than anything. The tendril is so wet; it slips right in, meeting little to no resistance from Gavin’s puckered passage. It is more like a tongue than it is a tentacle, licking Gavin open until he is moaning breathlessly.

It has been a while since Gavin has had someone besides himself touch _down there_. His head is becoming muddled, thoughts swirling and ultimately going nowhere, getting zapped out one-by-one by the passion that rushes through his veins. The tendril in him squirms against his walls, inching forward, stretching him further when the thicker section makes its way in. Gavin hisses, biting down on his molars as the faintest inkling of burning pain is transmitted from his ass to his brain.

RK seems to notice the little hiss, too. Instead of pushing forward, he allows his tentacle to withdraw the tiniest bit, leaving Gavin’s entrance until the very end of it is lodged within the man. A second later, he pushes in.

And in.

And in, and in further still.

“Ohhh fuck,” Gavin’s jaw drops then, pretty and moist lips forming into a lewd “o”. He pants then, mouth retracting to bare his front teeth and canines when RK pulls out again, a few centimeters this time, forcing it back in until Gavin screams.

He feels… impossibly full. Like the damn man- alien- is touching his entrails, flicking over them like some type of very sexual probe. Gavin cannot control his whimpering, the tendril within him thrusting in, retreating a fraction, then barging deeper each time. It is so erratic that he cannot place a nice rhythm, taking each fuck into his body with a string of weak noises.

It is so intense, being held down by RK’s alien arms, legs still stretched out and held there as one does the dirty work. Gavin’s hands search for purchase in their confinements. He lets them curl around the two oil black tendrils cuffing his hands by the wrists; holds them by their stems. His nails dig in as RK delivers a particularly harsh thrust, cursing when he looks up at the alien.

“You’re. So. Tight,” RK grunts in between thrusts, as if the amount it takes for him to fuck Gavin weighs on him tremendously.

“Big mood,” Gavin ruts back; scratches at those tentacles holding him down. “Ah, shiiit.”

His stomach is so unbearably filled and, when he looks down, Gavin cannot help but shout in horror. There, down in the lower quadrants of his abdomen, he can see RK _quite literally_ piledriving into him, distending his muscle and skin that cover the area. It is terrifying to watch, seeing each and every time RK breaches him further.

So, why is Gavin sporting the hardest stiffy in his lifetime? He does not understand... 

Until a burst of mind-liquifying ecstasy washes over his system.

He shrieks painfully, pupils restricting to the size of pinpoints. Gavin’s head lolls, eyelids fluttering uncontrollably as the tendril inside him hits the hidden bundle of nerves resting along his passage once more. His extremities feel like they are disintegrating, his core being decimated by this alien and his numerous appendages. It is the worst and best feeling, combined in an overwhelming mixture that leaves his skin set aflame.

But, all too soon, everything comes to a screeching halt when all three beings- Gavin, RK and Connor- hear the faintest:

“G-gavin?”

A groan of pain comes next, Hank shifting on the exam table. He blinks away the darkness in his eyes, only to be met by Connor’s brown ones, analyzing him almost curiously.

“Gavin, huh?” RK repeats Gavin’s name, the syllables rolling across his tongue softly like silk. “It looks like your partner has awoken, officer Gavin Reed.”

When RK wrenches his face towards Hank, the man can see how prominent the look of confusion and anger is on Hank’s face, and it strikes Gavin with shame; shame that he is restrained by an unlimited amount of tentacles. He is ashamed that he has one in his ass, never ceasing its thrusting motions. Ashamed that he cannot do anything but moan, unable to find a possible escape route for them both. He has failed as an officer, and Gavin is sure that Hank will see him in the same light as soon as all of this is over… if they live through it, that is.

Hank sucks in a breath when he focuses on Connor, clearly frightened. “What the fuck?” He writhes, bucking off the table, but Connor’s tendrils slam him down, knocking the wind out of the man, face completely neutral when he hears Hank cry in pain.

It breaks into something more sympathetic; a smile graces Connor’s very attractive lips.

“It would be best if you comply,” Connor says simply, a positive pep in his tone of voice. “I don’t believe it would be beneficial to sustain any unnecessary injuries, isn’t that right, lieutenant Anderson?”

Without warning, Connor twists Hank, handling him until the man is on all fours, a strong, silvery-black colored tendril forcing his back to arch, ass presenting prettily in mid-air. The alien shuffles closer, leaning over until he is face-to-face with Hank, so near that their noses are almost touching.

Hank growls his distaste, ready to launch himself at the perpetrator, when Gavin yelps, “Hank! No!”

“Gavin?” Hank’s eyes go wide with surprise when he sees Gavin, spread out and flushed red with exertion. He zooms in on where Gavin is being taken. “What’s going on?” His teeth gnash when he sees RK. What the fuck are you doing to him, he wants to say, but it is crushed as RK’s tendrils quiver with excited energy.

It is _disgusting_. Yet _fascinating_ , at the same time.

RK would look like an average human male, dressed in a spiffily collared jacket, if it were not for his lower half, which is a writhing mess of oil-slick tendrils. They connect with the floor, like tree roots, but more fluid; possessing an earthworm quality as they move amongst each other. They intertwine with ones the same color as the ones holding Hank, circling his waist and grabbing at the globes of his behind, massaging them with tiny fingerlets. They spread out even to the corners of the room and, very soon, Hank realizes why Gavin has not tried to escape yet; the perps, whatever they are, have them trapped. If Hank were able to rip from the tentacles wriggling over his skin, he would be quickly enveloped in the mess of tendrils along the floor.

In essence, he is in no better position than Gavin, who is being… _fucked_ by those jet black tentacles.

“Do you like what you see?” Connor whispers in Hank’s ear, clearly noticing how Hank flushes hot when Gavin lets out a particularly lewd moan. “That could be you, too, if you just let me.” Hank shakes his head, attempting to clear his mind of the image, but fails. Gavin’s noises infiltrate his ears. “Look at me,” Connor commands, pleased when Hank obeys.

The kiss they make is dirty, messy and uncalled for, with Connor lapping at Hank’s lips. He dives in, prying them apart so he can lick at the man’s teeth. He nudges his oral muscle there, taste buds scraping at Hank’s gums, searching for any entry point to get further into Hank’s mouth. He grimaces slightly when he finds none; the lieutenant officer plays hard to get. He needs to fix that.

With deft fingers, Connor pinches Hank’s nose shut, cutting off the man’s oxygen without notice. It takes a few seconds for Hank to gasp for air, mouth granting entrance for Connor’s tongue to slither through.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Connor retracts, barely getting nipped when Hank decides to bite down. “You need that airway to be clear, do you not?”

He moves on, his silver-black tendril lining up against Hank’s very unprepared hole.

Gavin belts out a scream when three tiny nodules latch onto his prostate, massaging them as another tendril enters him, stretching his rim more than anticipated. RK’s groan echoes his, fucking him intensely. The pattern goes from _slow, slow, fast_ , to _fast, hard, harder_ within a matter of seconds. He throws himself around in pleasure, nearly falling off the examination table, if not for RK’s tentacles keeping him in their grasp. He is lowered onto the floor, where RK’s tendrils wrap around him, the ones in his ass still thrusting into him without a second’s pause.

“Gavin!” Hank shouts when Gavin goes down.

Muscles bulging, he tears Connor from him, diving after his partner. Fuck the sea of tentacles that are on the ground; all Hank’s frantic mind can think of is the goal to save Gavin.

As soon as he hits the floor, infinite tendrils, sticky and wet now, reach around him. Still, he crawls on his belly to Gavin, who sucks on a tentacle invading his mouth.

RK grunts unsatisfactorily, “Please keep your incubator on your side of the room,”

Connor, however, seems to be amused by Hank’s strength and willpower, instead suggesting, “Come on, RK. Let them interact a little. After all, humans _are_ social beings.”

Finally, Hank reaches Gavin, throwing the tendril in Gavin’s mouth aside. He cups Gavin’s face with both hands, unable to do anything else when Connor resumes his actions. A large, foreign tentacle forces into Hank’s hole.

“Hank!” Gavin wails, only allowed to watch as the lieutenant howls in shock when Connor enters him.

He himself whimpers as RK fucks him more, the excreted slick from all tendrils making it impossible to feel anything other than pleasure. There are tons of them, touching, fondling, gripping at his and Hank’s body. He needs to do something with his mouth other than pant and cry, he thinks.

“K-kiss me,” he pleads suddenly, not sure who he is asking in particular.

Who is Hank to resist? He cannot even feel his own limbs anymore as Connor ravishes his ass, the viper-like tendrils rolling over him and Gavin like waves. He leans down, mouth connecting with Gavin’s in an instant.

They kiss so much as suck each other’s faces. Hank’s beard is rough and scratchy upon Gavin’s own stubble, but that is the last thing the man is thinking of. Saliva drips from the edges of their mouths, adding to the chaos around, in and on them. Their tongues chase each other back and forth, from one hot cavern to another, dancing together in a frenzied tango that moves to the beat of each thrust RK and Connor make within them. 

They swallow one another’s moans, drunk on the rush of endorphins that flood their systems. Oxytocin rides the undertone, keeping them suspended in a timeless session of ecstasy.

But, as all things concerning human anatomy, there is only so much Gavin’s and Hank’s bodies can take.

Tears slip from Gavin’s grey-green eyes, lost in the viscous cacophony of slick and tentacles around him. Hank can feel them trail down and around his own nose, and he releases Gavin’s mouth in favor of collecting his partner’s salty tears upon his tongue.

“He cares about you, Gavin,” Connor comments in the background, almost as if he is a little jealous. “What a good man.”

A rumble comes from under the ground then, and both Connor and RK smile in synchronized time with each other.

“Sixty is ready,” RK announces.

Connor confirms, “It’s time.”

“What-” But Gavin never gets to finish his sentence.

Hank is torn from him, their physical contact interrupted. His arm stretches out for him, but they are suddenly, hoisted into the air, just a breadth away from each other, plugged by the ass and on display for the _thing_ that is coming together at the front of the room.

A figure forms from the mass of tendrils, all ink and silver grey, even when it is fully constructed. The _thing_ is a person, a carbon copy of both Connor and RK, only in greyscale. They grin, greeting their two look-alikes silently. Connor and RK nod back at them.

“They are ready, Sixty,” RK says, icy eyes trained on his comrade- his leader, maybe- the titular being.

Connor brings a tendril to caress one of Hank’s cheekbones. “You chose right, Sixty. They are perfect for incubation.”

Sixty’s mouth moves as they talk without a voice, the reply silent to Gavin and Hank, but RK and Connor seem to understand just fine. Squirming tentacles make way for Sixty, who walks the clear aisle. He stands before the two humans. His eyes narrow, scanning over Gavin, next Hank, before smiling once again. Then, he lifts his hands, reaching them to the ceiling in some sort of symbolic gesture. Two lengthy and clear tubes, tendrils, rise up from the writhing depths of tentacles in time with Sixty’s hands, and Gavin just _knows_ what they are.

RK and Connor yank out of Gavin and Hank when Sixty gives them a flick of the wrist. The clear tubes hurry to fill their place, and both men shout at the rough intrusion. They press up right against their sweet spots, but do not move much…

Until Sixty snaps his fingers and, with that, he falls apart into a pile of squirming tendrils, and the tubes suddenly _expand_.

“OH!” Gavin roars when the first spherical object pushes into his entrance, popping right into his passage.

“M’aaaaah,” Hank bellows soon after, and the object being forced into him is propelled further into his body, weighing heavily in his gut, unlike anything he has ever felt before. They just keep coming, sweeping over his prostate with each pass.

Gavin has half the mind to inspect what is going on under him; the clear tube securely lodged in his ass now. There are translucent, round objects, shiny with a wet sheen. They are an eerie blue color, disappearing within Gavin and Hank as they become stuffed with them.

They are supposed to act of incubators for these… these are _eggs_.

The men realize at the same time.

But Hank cannot last much longer. Each egg that is slipped into him scooches right along his sweet zone, sparks of pleasure zapping out his vision one by one. The feeling builds on top of each other, so much so that Hank might just burst from the sheer intensity of it all…

Gavin is in no better position, body jerking with each pass of an egg. His stomach is becoming so full, bulging bit by bit from the eggs being pushed into him. He quakes when a particularly large one squelches by his prostate. The pressure is so great, he cannot even give a warning scream before he is coming, his dick exploding cum on and around himself.

Hank’s and Gavin’s orgasms happen so closely together; it is almost like they are one. It is like their souls are projected to the heavens; they can see the galaxy, each star twinkling in the milky way. The moon stares back at them, coating them in pale light that feels chilly to the skin. Planets morph into blue, round eggs, floating around them as they sink back down to earth, back into their respective bodies, passing wispy, white clouds getting caught in locks of their hair.

When they come to, the clear tube tentacles from Sixty are long gone, unplugged from their orifices. They lay on the exam tables again, bare and shivering from the aftershocks of ejaculation. The room is void of any tentacle, even, sterile, like every examination room should be.

Was it all just a dream? Gavin puts a hand to his otherwise flat stomach, lying on his side to lock eyes with Hank, who is wondering the same thing. There is nothing, not even the tiniest smidge of slime on their bodies.

Quietly, they find their uniforms in a pile near the door, dressing in complete silence. Everything is so surreal all of a sudden, and they are unsure what to think.

“So, uh,” Hank still has his gun drawn, ready to clear whatever lies ahead beyond the doorway of the exam room. At least he has _some_ brain left to put his and his partner’s safety first. “Let’s go home,” he says awkwardly, trying not to remember the kiss he shared with his partner earlier. “You ready?”

Gavin nods, his palm still placed unconsciously on his abdomen. He wants to forget everything; wish he could go back to before all this _supposedly_ happened. He does not know what is real and what is fiction, anymore.

“Ready.”

Together, they kick open the door, only to be greeted by two men, identical in every which way, with the exception of their eyes. Gavin can feel the blood draining from his face, down into his belly, where it grows round with blue, glowing eggs. Eggs that were put into him by none other than the titular being called Sixty. He is filled with them. Gavin is filled _their_ eggs, just like Hank is filled, too.

They press against the inside of his belly, up against his intestines. Lying uncomfortably atop his bladder. Something _twists_ in his gut, and he resists the urge to flounder as terror seeps through his being.

“Hello, officers,” Connor and RK greet them in unison. “Welcome home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find all the vine references for a prize when you comment/give kudos.  
> Happy Halloween.  
> follow me @ra9sthiccbicc on twitter


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